


Happiness In Strange Places

by BleedingInk



Series: Sharing is Caring [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Domestic Disputes, Domesticity, Established Meanstiel, Fluff, Human AU, Multi, Open Marriage, Polyamory, Threesome - F/M/M, happy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 19:12:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1754929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleedingInk/pseuds/BleedingInk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been two years since Dean was welcomed into Cas and Meg's relationship, and if you ask him, things couldn't be better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Someone was peppering little kisses on his back, and Dean instinctively knew it was Cas. He was the one who was always this frisky in the morning. Meg’s side, as always, was already empty as she was out of bed and probably making a breakfast so big none of them would be able to finish it.

The kisses went up to his neck and then Cas breathed in his ear: “Good morning.”

“Morning, Cas,” Dean mumbled, still not completely awake and just happy to let the man pamper him. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for our run?”

“It’s Saturday,” Cas groaned lazily. “I was thinking, maybe we can skip running today… stay in bed…”

Dean was about to say he liked that idea when a choking sound came from the bathroom. Automatically, both men sat up and Dean opened his eyes to exchange a worried look with Cas.

“Meg?” Cas called, standing up and walking towards the bathroom. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah…” Meg’s muffled voice floated towards them, only to be interrupted by another belch.

“Baby, you don’t sound okay,” Dean pointed, also getting up. Unlike Cas, he at least made sure to put his boxers on.

“It’s fine,” Meg coughed. “I didn’t mean to wake you, boys.”

The toilet flushed and Meg emerged from the bathroom, looking like all sorts of hell: she was pale, there were dark circles underneath her eyes and her hair (usually shiny and silky) was wet and greasy from the sweat.

“I think I’m sick,” she blurted out, her voice hoarse and heavy.

“You think?” Dean repeated, crooking an eyebrow. Cas shot him a warning look and then put an arm around his wife’s shoulder (she was wearing one of Dean’s old flannel shirts, probably the first thing she found on the floor when she woke up), and gently guided her back to the bed.

“Well, it was due,” he commented, putting a hand on her forehead. “You haven’t had the flu in five years or so.”

“I don’t want to be sick,” Meg complained. “I have a million things to do.”

“You’ll do them when you feel better,” Cas said. “Your health comes first.”

Dean was sure Meg was going to protest, and in fact her cheeks turned red with irritation, but she must have been feeling pretty damn bad, because instead of arguing, she leaned back on the pillows and closed her eyes.

“I’m gonna puke again,” she mumbled. Dean ran to the cleaning closet and came back with a bucket in record time, and Cas held Meg’s hair back as she barfed her guts out.

“I’ll call the bakery and tell them you can’t make it today,” Cas decided, getting out of the room with the stinking bucket in his hand.

“Maybe we should call a doctor,” Dean suggested, and imitating Cas, put a hand on Meg’s forehead. She didn’t seem to have a fever, but maybe it was just that it hadn’t broken out yet.

“You guys need to get out of here,” Meg said. “I don’t want you to catch what I’ve got. Go to the other apartment. I’ll be fine.”

Dean wasn’t certain at what point his apartment across the hall had become simply “the other apartment”, but he couldn’t say without lying that it wasn't the most accurate way to describe it. During the past two years, most of his things had slowly but steadily began disappearing and then reappearing at the Novak’s place. After a day at work, it had become more and more usual for him to knock on their door, until eventually they’d given him a key. Now they just waited for him every night, while Meg made dinner and Cas graded some tests on the coffee table. They ate together, washed the dishes together, and then went to their queen size bed that was big enough for the three of them to sleep comfortably spread, but they still crowded each other and cuddled, even on nights when they didn’t even have sex.

It had been one of those nights, at some point during the first year after Meg and Cas invited him for the first time, while they were standing in the kitchen, that Meg had casually mentioned Lisa.

“Lisa?” Dean had repeated confused, and then he realized she was talking about the manager at the furniture store Meg met when she brought him lunch earlier that day.

“She seemed really nice,” Meg had said, scrubbing some grease from a plate before passing it to Dean for him to rinse it. “And _very_ interested in you.”

“Oh, are you going to ask her out?” Cas had asked. None of them had looked at Dean in the eye while they spoke, and Dean had had the impression that was not what they were really asking. But he’d come to understand the Novaks never asked for anything directly.

“No,” Dean had said, while he passed the plate for Cas to dry it out. “In fact, I’m not seeing anyone. Besides you guys, of course.”

Meg had almost dropped a glass.

“What do you mean?” she’d asked, after clearing her throat, in a cheery tone that fooled exactly no one.

“Nothing,” he’d replied, shrugging. “Just… putting it out there.”

They’d continued washing the dishes in silence for a couple of minutes, and then Meg had said:

“I’m not seeing anyone else either.”

Cas had slowly put the last plate down, taken his glasses off and looked at them both with a knowing smirk.

“Nor am I.”

The smiles on their faces must’ve been the dumbest, corniest thing ever, but they couldn’t bring themselves to care. Dean had extended an arm in each direction, and pulled both of them close, resting his forehead against Cas’ while Meg hid her face on his chests, and they’d stayed there without saying a word until the sink flooded.

Dean was well aware that Cas and Meg were, well, Cas and Meg. There were a million things about their relationship he didn’t quite get, a thousand inside jokes that went over his head (though less and less the more he stayed with them). Sometimes they’d exchange a look, and Dean would feel like he’d just missed an entire conversation. Sometimes they would joke they were a boring old married couple, and Dean would remind them they were only a few years older than him and that no _boring_ married couple had a “boyfriend”, as they liked to call him. Sometimes he wondered how long it would be until they realized three was a crowd.

But for now, they were in it together, so Dean put his hands on Meg’s burning cheeks and said:

“Like hell we’re leaving you alone.”

Meg glared at him, and for a moment, Dean thought she was going to vomit again, but instead she reminded him: “You need to buy Sam’s wedding present.”

Honestly, Dean would have taken the vomit anytime.

“You still haven’t done that?” asked Cas, coming back into the room with the clean bucket. He put a hand on his hips and frowned disapprovingly at Dean, but the effect was greatly diminished by the fact he was stark naked.

“I hadn’t found anything,” Dean groaned. “And do you have some kind of phobia to getting dressed first thing in the morning?”

“Yeah, he does,” Meg smiled weakly, and Cas rolled his eyes at them.

“The wedding’s in three weeks, Dean,” he said.

“I know,” Dean muttered.

“Your brother specifically asked you to be there,” Cas kept saying. “You’re the best man, for fuck’s sake.”

“I know,” Dean repeated, a little louder.

“Have you even begun to think about your speech?”

“Stop nagging me, dammit!” he snapped, and took satisfaction on Cas’ stunned face before he realized Meg was shaking her head slightly. Dean though she too was going to say something to remark just how irresponsible he was, but instead she asked in a reedy voice:

“Could you guys just… not?”

Instantly, both Cas relaxed his shoulders, and Dean closed his eyes to take a deep breath.

“I’ll deal with that,” he promised reluctantly. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, you’re gonna deal with that _now_ ,” Meg said, sharply. “You’re gonna go out there before the stores close, and you’re gonna come back with the best wedding present you can find, you hear me?”

“You want me to leave you alone with him?” Dean said, pointing at Castiel with his thumb. “He can’t cook to save his life.”

“I’m sure he can manage to make some tea and chicken soup,” Meg shrugged. “You just go.”

Well, she couldn’t be feeling _that_ bad. Not if she was using her sergeant voice to order them around. With a defeated sigh, Dean opened one of his drawers (he had three assigned to him, which was more than enough for all his clothes, but he still kept some in the other apartment to save face), and then hopped in the shower. While the warm water drummed on his head, he thought maybe he had been too hard on Cas. In his slightly invasive way, he had just been trying to help.

It’s just that… weddings and everything around the topic of family made Dean nervous. He was turning thirty one this year, and although no one had come out and said out loud, he knew everyone in his family expected him to do what Sam was doing: settle down with a nice girl. Or guy. Dean had never been secretive about his preferences, or lack of them thereof. His dad still cringed a little when he remembered Michael, the only one of Dean’s boyfriend he got to meet, but over the years, he had given a lot of steps in the right direction to not freaking out whenever his oldest son mentioned he might be dating a man.

What he and his godparents Bobby and Ellen didn’t understand, though, was that Dean wasn’t the settling down kind. Every few months or so (sometimes every few weeks) he got the itch for getting out of the house, just take his Baby on the road and hit a few small towns until there were several miles between him and his current home. In extreme cases, he had entirely removed himself from a place just because he considered he had been living there way too long.

This small city in Colorado, however, he didn’t feel like leaving. Which was unusual to say the least. And of course, he would never admit it had to do with Meg and Cas, but it totally did. Until they got tired of him and decided to go back to their old arrangement, he was happy to share their bed and their lives.

He crossed the bedroom (Meg was sleeping with the covers over her head, which was good) and got into the kitchen, where Cas was putting the kettle over the stove.

“You need help with that?” Dean offered.

“No,” Castiel said, sticking his chin up. “I’ll be fine.”

Obviously, his anger hadn’t been as easily dissipated as Dean’s, so he decided not to push it.

“Okay,” he said, and ostensibly walked to the door. “If you need anything…”

“I got this,” said Cas, without even looking in his direction. Dean sighed, and left, mentally preparing himself to go through a bunch of stupid stores and get back as fast as he could.

 

* * *

 

He couldn’t bring himself to leave the building’s lobby. He was too worried about Meg. What if it was worse than she was letting on? What if Cas needed him to go buy a medicine or something? What if…? Before he realized, he was back in the elevator. He didn’t even remember pressing the button to their floor. Well, it didn’t matter. He was going to apologize to Cas for his temper, and he was going to help him take care of Meg. End of the story.

Of course, when he was actually standing outside the Novak’s door, he stopped to reconsider. Was this one of those situations where his presence was not really required? Because Dean was sure, as much as they shared with him, that those situations existed, and that Meg and Cas kindly kept them from him to avoid hurting his feelings. Still…

And then he remembered he had some wooden panels at the other apartment, and suddenly he knew exactly what to give to his brother. He’d carve something for him. Sam was always excited when Dean made little animals and such when they were kids. Also, it would allow him to stay close, but not too close, in case Cas needed him. It was killing two birds with one stone, really.

With his decision made, Dean went into the other apartment (made a mental note to clean it later, he couldn’t believe he let the place gather so much dust), got the wood, and spent the morning choosing the letters and designs, and sharpening his tools. Around noon, he received a text message:

_> I don’t got this._

Dean chuckled to himself, and let Cas sweat for a couple of minutes before answering.

_> What, chicken’s giving you trouble? You know it’s gotta be dead before you add it to the soup, right?_

_> Could you please just come and help me?,_ was the answer, and Dean could just feel Cas’ irritation simmering through. _> How far are you?_

 _> On my way,_ Dean replied.

Then he got up, crossed the hall, let himself in the Novak’s apartment and went straight for the kitchen, which was an absolute chaos. There were all sort of ingredients spread across the counter, along with a Meg’s battered cook book. Cas was standing near the stove, like he hadn’t moved from the spot where Dean last saw him. There was a look of utter despair on his face, as he stared at the pot like it was some sort of dangerous animal trying to bite him.. When he saw Dean, his face hesitated between anger and relief and it was the most hilarious thing Dean ever saw.

“Well,” Dean laughed at him. “Let’s see if I can fix your mess.”

“You didn’t go to buy the present,” Cas pointed. Unlike that morning, it didn’t sound like a reproach.

“Nah, figured I’d stay close in case you screwed up,” Dean couldn’t let the opportunity to mess with Cas go. “And I was right. Meg’s going to freak if she sees you left her cookbook where it can get stains.”

Cas jumped, grabbed the cookbook and pressed it against his chest like it was his first born. Dean laughed some more as he washed his hands.

“Okay, Gordon Ramsay,” Dean chuckled. “I need you to chop some carrots. Think you can handle that?”

“I can… handle that,” Cas groaned.

It took half an hour, Cas messing up which knives he was supposed to use, and Dean poking him all the while with the immunity of knowing he couldn’t get mad at him, but finally the soup was ready. Dean served some on a tray, and tried to give it to Cas, but he shook his head.

“You take it to her,” he told him. “I’ll clean here. I can do at least that.”

Meg was sitting on the bed, wearing an oversized sweater and reading one of those awful celebrities magazine. Her face didn’t look as flushed as that morning, and when she saw Dean, she wasn’t surprised at all.

“Hey,” Dean greeted her, sitting down and placing the tray on the nightstand. “Anything interesting?”

“Brangelina is adopting another baby,” she commented, closing the magazine in one swift movement. “They’re insane. Who wants that many kids?”

Dean laughed, and wondered, not for the first time, how come two people as different as them had ended up married. Cas was a complete nerd, and he had read more books that Dean knew existed in the world, but his idea of a recent event was the Civil War. He even had a restored Union uniform, complete with a hat. Meg, on the other hand, devoured every awful magazine and tabloid there was out there, she was always up to date with who was dating whom and who was releasing a new album that year. She could predict with eerily accuracy which shows would be cancelled and which movies would flop based only on the actors that participated in them. They seemed to have nothing in common at all. But somehow, they made it work.

“Have you boys reconciled yet?” she asked, as she grabbed the plate.

“I guess,” Dean replied, and involuntarily rubbed the back of his neck. When Meg arched an eyebrow, he stopped. Oh, great. Now she knew he was nervous. “Fine. I’ll talk to him.”

“You do that,” Meg said, taking a spoonful of the soup. “And did you find something nice for Sam?”

Dean smiled, and while she ate, he told her about what he planned to do. Meg agreed it was a much better present than any trinket he could have possibly bought in any stupid store. She congratulated him on the soup, and kissed him on the forehead to thank him. He went back to the kitchen, placed the tray and the empty plate on the counter, and went around to give Cas a back hug.

“Meg says we should kiss and make up,” he murmured in his ear.

“Ah, and who are we to disobey Mrs. Novak,” Cas sighed, and turned around. “I’ll start.”

“No, Cas, it’s okay…”

“I should not have insisted on the matter,” Cas said, anyway. “I know it makes you uncomfortable and you think you will ruin your brother’s wedding, but I assure you, you will do a great job. And if you want, I will assist you with the speech.”

Dean swallowed heavily. Yes, the thought of screwing up had crossed his mind, but he hadn’t told Cas about it. The man must have deduced it. Smarty pants.

“Okay,” said Dean, nodding. “And I’m sorry I screamed at you.”

“Well, I _do_ love to make you scream,” said Cas, with a sideway smile.

“Fucking flirt,” muttered Dean, and kissed him.

And just like that, everything was good again. And it was even better when the following morning, Dean woke up to an enthusiastic blowjob by a very cheery Meg who declared whatever it was she had, must have been a twenty four hour thing. And then Castiel got his full day in bed. By Monday morning, Dean was aching all over, but it was the good kind of pain. The kind of pain that reminded him that there was not one, but two people who really liked him and as messed up as it was whatever it was that they had going on, Dean wouldn’t have changed it for anything in the world.


	2. Chapter 2

There were two things Dean had never understood about the Novaks and would probably never understand. One was their obsession with sushi. He knew they have spent their honeymoon in Japan and the thing probably reminded them of those times, or maybe it was because it was the only dish Meg have never quite mastered. They had sushi at least once a month, and Dean had tried to like it, he really did. But several accidents with the chopsticks, some choking on wasabi and some spilt soy sauce later; they have unanimously decided Meg would just cook a burger for him on sushi night.

The other thing he didn’t understand was their insistence to meet Dean’s family.

“How am I even supposed to introduce you, guys?” he groaned, annoyed. “ _’Hey, dad, this is the married couple I’m dating.’_ ”

“We are part of your life, Dean,” Castiel said, in that calmed tone that kind of reminded Dean of Yoda imparting his wisdom, while he waved a small piece of salmon as if to accentuate his point. “Are we not?”

“Well, yeah, and you know I love you, guys...”

The words rolled out of his tongue naturally, and he didn’t stop to think about it until much later. The worst (or best) part was that neither Meg nor Cas seemed surprised by that statement. Like they took his love for them as a fact as unquestionable and unchanging as the rising sun.

“But?” Meg asked.

“But have you considered not everyone is as open-minded as you?”

They both stopped to stare at some point in the horizon, like they were taking a deep look at that fact and trying to assimilate it.

“Nope,” said Meg, finally.

“Not really, no,” Cas agreed, and Dean just wanted to throw his hands up in the air. But before they could continue the discussion, Meg put a roll in her mouth and immediately spat it back out on a napkin.

“Ugh, what is wrong with this sushi?” she protested. “I swear, it tastes like shit.”

“It’s the food poisoning,” Dean stated, as he took a big chunk of his perfectly cooked burger. “You’re tasting the food poisoning. Because that’s what you get when you eat raw fish.”

“It tastes fine to me,” Cas commented.

Dean was going to say something about Cas having his taste buds destroyed when Meg stood up and bolted in the bathroom’s direction with a hand over her mouth. Dean hoped that would be the end of sushi night.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t until the third time they got up to the sound of Meg throwing up that Dean suggested calling the doctor again, and it wasn’t until the fifth that Castiel started fully supporting the idea. Meg, of course, was being a stubborn mule and refusing to even hear about it.

“It’s probably nothing,” she kept insisting, even though she was sitting on the floor with one arm around the toilet, and still suppressing a heave every few words. “Let’s just wait for it to go away, it can’t be that long…”

“Meg, it’s been two weeks,” Cas reminded him. He was on the bathroom’s door, next to Dean, not daring to take a step beyond because last time Meg had reacted badly and thrown a shampoo bottle at him.

“Two weeks?” asked Meg, concern suddenly growing in her eyes. “Are you sure?”

Dean counted mentally. “Well, yeah, Sammy’s getting married this weekend,” he said.

“And you’re leaving for Kansas on Thursday?” Meg asked. She seemed a bit distressed.

“I can wait another day,” Dean offered immediately. “If you’re feeling too bad, baby…”

“No, no,” said Meg, and tried to stand up on shaky legs. Both Cas and Dean automatically moved to help her. “I think you’re right. I’ll just… make an appointment first thing on Monday.”

“Yes, please do,” Cas agreed.

He didn’t say anything else, and he really didn’t have to. Dean realized how worried he was by the way his eyes never left Meg’s face and how his fingers trembled just a little over her skin. Meg noticed too, because she put both hands on his cheeks and made him look at her.

“Hey. Don’t even go there, okay?” she told him, firmly. “It’s probably just a bug or something. They’ll give me a shot, and I’ll be good as new again.”

Cas merely nodded, although his expression was sterner than Dean had ever seen it. He wondered if it would be a good idea to ask what “there” was, but then Cas pressed his forehead against Meg’s and held her tight, and Dean got the hint he might not be welcomed to that conversation. So he hurriedly escaped to the kitchen to make breakfast instead.

 

* * *

 

Wednesday night was going great. Dean packed all of his things early and picked his Baby, his black 1967 black Chevrolet Impala, from the mechanic, who left her all tuned up and with a full tank, ready for his trip. Then he called his dad, assured him he would be there on time, and went to help Meg make dinner. She’d had another bad morning, but she’d just shrugged it off and told them there was no point in getting anxious until the results came back. Dean had the impression her calm was just a mask she was wearing to not make Cas’ fears all the worse, so he tried to cheer her up talking about the trip and the wedding.

“Man, it’s gonna be awesome to be back on the road,” he said, while he chopped some vegetables.

“Maybe next time you should take us,” Meg suggested, and Dean went mute. “Oh, I didn’t mean to Kansas, if you don’t want that,” she added. “I meant… anywhere. Just the three of us.”

“Yeah, that’d be nice,” Dean accepted. “If we can drag Cas away from his books long enough…”

“We’ll come up with something to convince him,” Meg smiled, as they heard the door opened. “And speaking of the devil…”

Several seconds passed, and Meg frowned. That wasn’t normal. Usually Cas went straight to the kitchen and kissed them both, while trying (and failing) to make himself useful until they sent him to get the table ready. And usually he was noisy: Dean could have sworn every one of Cas’ moves was somehow amplified, because he could always tell when he was taking his brown trench coat off, and laying down his briefcase, and putting the keys back in the key holder. But now there was just… silence. Like Cas had stopped dead midway through his arriving home routine.

“I’ll see what’s with him,” Dean offered.

Cas was standing in the middle of the living room, with a white envelope in his hand and a look of horror in his face. There were several other envelopes laying at his feet, like he had dropped them distractedly. He still had the briefcase in his hand and his eyes were moving rapidly behind his glasses, like he was reading what was in his hand over and over again.

“Cas?” Dean called him, softly. Cas startled, and then stared at Dean with his mouth hanging opened, like he couldn’t bring himself to speak.

“Me-Meg’s results…” he stuttered finally. His knees were shaking, and Dean strode towards him and held him.

“Okay,” he said, in a tranquilizing tone. “Okay, take it easy…”

“Dean…” Cas said, and his voice sounded like he was about to break. “Dean, her mother… it started just like that, she couldn’t hold anything down, she just…”

Something clicked inside Dean’s head and he could’ve hit himself for not seeing it before. Meg’s mother had died of stomach cancer a few years before. Of course, that was why Cas had been so jumpy and scared, and why Meg had refused to go to the doctor earlier. It all made sense now. It wasn’t that they hadn’t wanted to have that conversation with him, it was that they thought they’d already had it.

“Cas, come on, breathe,” he said. “I’m sure everything’s fine, don’t worry…”

“What is up with you two?” Meg asked, frankly irritated, as she stomped out of the kitchen. Then she saw the white envelope, and froze. Dean couldn’t have that. He was barely holding it together himself; if the three of them started to lose their shit, it’d be a disaster.

“Come here,” he said, extending a hand. Meg took a couple of insecure steps towards him, until she was close enough for him to wrap an arm around her waist. He did the same with Cas’ shoulders and pulled them both towards him, like he’d done that night by the sink when they’d decided that they needed nothing but what they already had. “It’s going to be alright,” he said, trying to imprint a certainty he didn’t feel in his words. “Whatever it is. I promise. We’re going to be here.”

Cas was practically crying, but he nodded and clasped his hand tight with Meg’s. It still took a couple of seconds before he could give her the envelope, and even a couple more before Meg managed to open it. There was a tense silence while she read, and then Meg slowly sat down on the couch. Her eyes were wide open, and she swiftly wiped the tears that got caught on her eyelashes.

“Okay,” she said simply. She seemed more surprise than anything. Dean figured that was a good thing.

“So?” he inquired.

“Well…” Meg started, and then closed her mouth, read the results once again and put them down on the coffee table. “Apparently, I’m-I’m… pregnant.”

The last word exploded on Dean’s ears, and for a moment, he thought he had misheard.

“You’re what?”

“Oh, thank God,” Cas exclaimed and practically flailed down on the armchair.

“What…? Why…? How’s that even possible?!” Dean realized he was about to begin shouting, so he followed his own advice and took a couple of breaths before continuing. “We always use condoms…”

“Well, not always,” Meg reminded him, tilting her head, like she was still trying to process the whole thing herself.

“You’re on the pill,” Dean protested. “That thing’s supposed to be like 98% effective…”

“It seems we got the unlucky 2%,” Cas chimed in, rubbing his temples. “I don’t even care. Anything that’s not cancer is good news.”

Dean had to admit he had point there. He walked around the coffee table and sat on the other armchair. They must have made quite a picture, the three of them just sitting there in absolute shock. _Pregnant… pregnant… pregnant…_ The word echoed in Dean’s mind, with implications he didn’t even want to think about. And maybe he should have shoved those thoughts aside. Maybe he should have waited until he was back from the wedding to express them out loud. But they were pushing and pulsing inside of his brain, and Dean just couldn’t hold the question in:

“So… what now?”

Meg startled and blinked several times. Cas took off his glasses, all calmed and compose he hadn’t been at the edge of a panic attack five minutes before.

“Well… that’s up to Meg,” he said simply.

“What do you boys think?” Meg asked, looking above the coffee table like she could find the answers on the wallpaper.

“Our opinions are ultimately irrelevant,” Cas stated.

“Yes, but I’d really appreciate them anyway,” Meg insisted.

Cas nodded, and then moved to sit on the couch by Meg’s side.

“I’m thinking, whatever you decide will be fine,” he said, hugging her.

Meg swallowed loudly, with her eyes growing red and puffy. Dean wanted to hug her as well, but again he was feeling he had no right to intervene in that conversation.

“You remember our third date?” she asked Cas. “When I told I didn’t want to have kids and you were on board with that?”

“Of course I do,” Cas replied.

“Will you still be on board if I told you I changed my mind?”

Cas’ smile was slow. Dean knew his face; he knew Cas’ usual expression was a deadpan he could use to get away with practically anything. His seriousness made it all the more funny whenever he told a joke, and probably intimidated his students on daily basis. But when he smiled, he smiled slowly. It started at the edge of his lips, twitching slowly, and it took around a half minute until he reached a full blown grin.

In the time it took for Castiel to understand what Meg was saying, and for him to smile at the idea, Dean made a choice. He had been struggling with it for some time now. He knew he’d have to make it eventually, or else the Novaks would do it for him one day, so it wasn’t hard.

When Cas kissed Meg on the forehead and told her he was on board with that, now and forever, and when Meg turned to him and extended a hand in his direction, Dean had a lump on his throat he tried to convince himself was imaginary. But his voice still came out strangled when he spoke:

“I hope you guys are very happy.”

It was their turn to stare at him like they had misheard. Dean rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding their glances.

“I think I’ll just, uh… tuck in early,” he said, standing up and heading for the door. For his apartment. For the place he was supposed to be occupying all of this time. “You know, big day tomorrow and all…”

“Dean,” Cas called him, and Dean wished he hadn’t, because now he had to actually face them. Meg’s expression was incredulous, while Cas was hesitating at the edge of the couch, like he didn’t know if he should get up and go to Dean or stay by his pregnant wife.

“It’s fine,” Dean said, and he really hoped it had sounded firmer that he heard it. “It really is. I understand.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” Meg protested. “Are you _really_ just going to walk out on us like that?”

She didn’t sound angry. Meg was bossy and snarky, so her tone was always borderline angry, but now she sounded hurt. Genuinely hurt. And that was when Dean’s resolution suffered the first severe hit. But he knew he had to stay firm.

“I’m sorry, was that not my cue to get out?” he asked, and he tried to be reasonable, he really did, but this was already pretty hard without them making it even worse.

“What do you mean?” asked Castiel. He too looked hurt, but most of all, confused. “Dean, this baby…”

“… will have great parents,” Dean interrupted him, raising both his hands. “I know that. Look, even if it’s mine…”

“It _is_ yours, Dean,” Meg stated. “And Cas’. And mine. It’s ours. That’s the whole point.”

That was the second severe hit, but Dean took two seconds to process it and make a comeback.

“So what are you saying?” he asked. “We’re adults. We can do whatever the fuck we want. But you want to force a kid into this?”

“Force him into _what_?!” Meg screamed, as she stood up. “Happiness? Acceptance? Love? I’m sorry; I’m not seeing the downside to that.”

“Well, there is a downside,” Dean said, and only when the words came out of his mouth he realized just how lame that reply was. “Somehow, someone will manage to ruin this. Not everyone is as open-minded as you are.”

“Well, obviously, _you_ are not,” Meg said.

Her cheeks were burning red, and before Dean could even think of a reply, she stomped out in the bedroom’s direction, leaving him alone with Cas. He looked up, and Dean felt like someone had punched him in the stomach, because Cas eyes were dry, but he still seemed so wrecked and brokenhearted. And Dean would have kicked himself for ruining this moment for them, but he was doing what was necessary.

“Cas, you understand, right?” he pleaded.

Cas didn’t answer right away. Instead he took his time to take off his glasses, rub his temples and sigh audibly a couple of times.

“I understand your concerns, Dean,” he said, finally. “And I can’t say they are not valid.”

“Why am I feeling there’s a ‘but’ in there?” asked Dean, dispirited.

“But Meg is right,” Cas continued. “We’re not asking you to be part of this family, because you already are. Whatever obstacles may come our way, we should be able to sort them out. All of us. Together.”

Dean shook his head, partly because he didn’t want to start crying in front of Cas, partly to avoid the other man’s gaze.

“That’s a really nice feeling, man,” he said. And yeah, his voice was shaky and Dean didn’t think it would ever be firm again, but to hell with it. “But it’s not that easy.”

“Alright,” Cas stood up too, but instead of storming out, he approached Dean. Slowly, like he was trying to calm a scared animal, and Dean thought maybe, in a way, he was. “If that is your final word, we’ll respect it. If you don’t want to… be part of our lives anymore,” Cas took a deep breath, like it had physically hurt him to get those words out. “Then, of course, you’re in your right.”

He put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean didn’t step back, but also didn’t move any closer to him.

“But I’m begging you to reconsider,” Cas added. “I love you, Dean. Meg loves you, too. Please, at least… think about it.”

Dean didn’t make any promise. He couldn’t without sounding like a liar. So instead, he let Castiel kiss him, muttered a goodbye, and left without looking back.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean had a bad night. The bed in the other apartment (his apartment, he reminded himself, his apartment until he could find somewhere else to live, because like hell he was staying there after what happened), well, it was too cold, too big… too empty. The morning light caught him staring at the ceiling, wondering what was missing. Actually, he knew exactly. He just… didn’t want to think about it.

He made some coffee (Meg would be making toasts or pancakes or something equally tasty to send him on his way), and after two or three cups (Cas would have reminded him that caffeine made him nervous and the he would need to stop at a gas station in an hour or two), he grabbed his duffle bag and locked the door on the way out.

In the hallway, he had to stop himself from knocking on the Novak’s door and letting them know he was leaving. They didn’t care. Why would they care? Dean had made it very clear he no longer was part of… that thing they were. Reprimanding himself, Dean climbed on his Baby, turned the music at a volume that would probably make hurt his ears in about half an hour and pressed the gas pedal with a little more force than it was necessary.

A couple of hours later, he had left Colorado behind and Led Zepellin was blasting on his stereo. He rolled the windows down to enjoy the June sun and sang along, with the empty road as his only audience. And for a moment there, it almost, almost, felt like everything was okay. His little brother was getting married.

He hadn’t met this Sarah chick, but Sam was praising her in every language known to humankind, and even their dad (who barely ever found something nice to say about anyone) had admitted she was a good girl. Also, his Uncle Bobby and his wife, Ellen, would be there, which meant Jo would be there and she’d demand a rematch on their everlasting Mario Kart tournament, and everybody would remind them they were supposed to be adults, for fuck’s sake, before giving in and joining them around the couch to shout abuse and cheers equally. He smiled at the thought. It’d be great to see them all again.

Around midday, he stopped at a restaurant and ordered the greasiest, most disgusting cheese burger they had, took some greedy chunks of it, and winked at the waitress, who made little to no effort to hide her disgust at Dean’s rude table manners. Well, it wasn’t like Dean hadn’t dropped the habit of eating like a starving caveman once he started to realize that not many people found that erotic. Every once in a while, though, when he was nervous or when he found what he was eating to be particularly delicious, he relapsed in his starving caveman ways. Cas and Meg had found it hilarious, reminding him the food wasn’t going anywhere and laughing dearly at him…

Dean paid the check and left without finishing his burger and without going to the bathroom. He knew he’d live to regret that, but he needed to get moving right now, before all the awful thoughts he’d been repressing caught up with him.

He made it to Lawrence, Kansas, in record time, with his bladder about to explode and a cramp on his shoulders and hands from grasping onto the wheel with too much strength. The last thing he wanted at that moment was to be hugged, especially be hugged by the obscenely tall man his brother had grown to be, but he knew he’d endured it if he had to. He was always glad to endure anything for Sam.

He parked his car in front of the house, and stopped at the gate to contemplate the silhouettes through the window. There were several, and if he listened closely, he could almost hear them arguing loudly about this or the other. Probably vital space. John Winchester always overestimated the house’s capacity when he invited people over.

The door swung open, and Sam came running down the porch’s steps, while screaming: “Dean!”

“Heya, Sammy!” Dean extended his arms and his little brother (well, not so little anymore) flung towards him and held him so tight every bone in Dean’s body protested. But it was okay. It made Dean think about all the other times he’d got out of the car after a long trip, all the times Sam came back from California to spend Thanksgiving or Christmas. All the times they’ve been together. All the times they’ve come home.

“Dean’s here!” Jo’s voice resonated across the yard, and next thing he knew, Dean was wrapped at the center of an avalanche of people, all commenting how glad they were to see him and asking him if he had a nice trip. Bobby and Ellen were there, as predicted, and Charlie, of course, because wherever Jo was, Charlie was too. Missouri Mosley, who lived down the street and used to babysit them, and Rufus Walker, looking all crooked and nervous as usual, and their friends Ash, who still wore that preposterous mullet, and Garth, who had cut his hair upon meeting his fiancée Bess.

“Alright, alright,” came a groaning voice from behind all of them. “Give him some room to breathe!”

“It’s good to see you, Dad,” said Dean, as John pulled him for a quick hug, only to release him two seconds later and pat him on the cheek, before picking up Dean’s duffle bag.

“Come on in, kiddo,” he said. “And present your respects to your mother.”

Mary Winchester’s picture occupied, as always, a place of honor above the chimney. It showed her in a long white dress, smiling wide for the camera, as she held a five months old baby and a four years old boy clinging to her skirt. Dean remembered that day. His father had loaded them all on the car, and they had gone for a picnic next to the river. They had taken a lot of photos, and eaten PB and jam sandwiches. That had been about a month before the fire that claimed her life.

“Hey, Mom,” Dean said softly to the picture.

“You’re gonna have to sleep on the couch,” his Dad was saying, as he deposited the duffle bag next to all the other duffle bags that were littered around the living room. “Jo and Charlie are in your room and Bobby and Ellen are in Sam’s, so…”

“Where’s Sam staying?” asked Dean, looking away from his mother photo.

“At that fancy hotel at the other side of town,” John could barely contain the eye roll. “Mr. Blake insisted… I mean, _Daniel_. I guess I’m supposed to call him Daniel.”

“You could at least _try_ to pretend you like him,” Sam intervened, appearing on the doorway of the living room.

“I’ll pretend to like him while I’m talking to him,” John shrugged. “Can’t make any more promises.”

Dean could just see on his brother’s face he was about to protest, and sighed because those two still couldn’t spend ten minutes in a room together without bickering. As Sam began complaining they were going to be a family now and why did Dad always had to antagonize people, Dean excused himself to the bathroom.

After he finished, he stepped out on the hall without looking and practically bumped into a cute brunette girl who stared at him in horror.

“Oh, God,” she said, covering her mouth with her hands. “Oh, God, you’re already here.”

“Uh… I arrived five minutes ago,” Dean said.

“No, no,” she said, shaking her head anxiously. “I was supposed to greet you at the door, and introduce myself and…”

“Like they were going to let you,” Dean laughed, and offered her his hand. “Let’s start over. Hi, I’m Dean. Nice to meet you. I take it you’re Sarah.”

Sarah’s shake was firm, but there was still a look of mortification in her dark green eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized again. “I just… heard so much about you from your family, and I really wanted you to like me because… I wasn’t supposed to say that,” she realized, and hit herself on the forehead with an open palm. Dean decided against laughing again, because it was obviously not going to do any good for Sarah’s nerves.

“Hey, calm down,” he said instead, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Sam likes you. That’s good enough for me.”

“Really?” asked Sarah. “Because I know your dad doesn’t like my dad, and I’m thinking maybe he doesn’t like me either…”

“Don’t worry about that. Dad doesn’t like anybody at first,” Dean assured her. “I’ll tell you what: you survive this barbecue, you can survive the rest of your life.”

Sarah gave him a confused look, and then realized. “Oh, right! Because I’m marrying Sam.”

And just the way she said it, the way her face lit up and her eyes got all wide… Dean just knew Sam had made the right choice. And he was happy for him. He really was.

 

* * *

 

The barbecue extended late into the night, partly because the meat got burnt and John, Bobby and Rufus had a loud and long argument about whose fault that was until Ellen shut them with a couple of well-place screams. Meanwhile, Jo, Charlie, Ash and Dean had a furious Mario Kart competition, which of course got deafening and mean around the second lap. When Dean got up to get a beer, he found Missouri, Ellen, Bess and Sarah discussing wedding stuff in the kitchen while they made some salads to save face, and couldn’t resist the temptation to tease Garth and Sam (who were helping) for being so whipped. Sam threw a spoon at him and missed.

Finally, some scrapes of the meat and a lot of salads were served in the garden, and everybody gathered under the warm summer night to talk and joke and reminiscence, and between the laughter and the chatter, Dean had managed to forget about what was looming on his head, until Missouri poked him on the ribs.

“You’ve gained weight,” she accused him. “Somebody’s been feeding you properly.”

“Oh, so you’re saying I can’t cook my own meals?” Dean made an offended gesture.

“You can, but you just won’t,” said Missouri.

She had taught Dean most of what he knew about cooking, and of course she knew Dean was glad to cook for a dozen of people but didn’t see the point of doing it if it was just for himself. Before Dean could come up with an excuse, Missouri got thankfully distracted by more wedding talk. But Dean caught a glimpse of his Dad listening to their conversation, and grimaced because he’d have to deal with that eventually.

Around two in the morning, everybody decided it was time to leave, so one by one they started saying their goodbyes, and since John had already gone to sleep after one too many beers, Dean had to see them all to the door.

“You were great,” he guaranteed in Sarah’s ear when she and Sam left, and she looked so relieved it was hysterical.

Bobby, Ellen, Jo and Charlie had cleaned most of the remains of the banquet, and were sitting in the kitchen, Charlie on Jo’s lap while Ellen slumbered with her head on Bobby’s shoulder. Bobby was telling Charlie the story of how he decided to propose to Ellen. Dean had heard it a thousand times, but one more never hurt.

“… so I walked in, and there was this little girl who was knee-high to a grasshopper with pink ribbons on her hair…”

“They weren’t pink,” Jo protested.

“… and that’s when I knew,” said Bobby.

“That’s when you knew you’d be her father,” said Charlie when a dreamy expression on her face.

“That’s when I knew I was screwed,” Bobby corrected her, and Ellen awoke enough to hit him in the shoulder. “I never considered myself father material, and I was scared shitless,” Bobby declared. “But I was also in love with Ellen, and I just adored the little rascal, so I told myself ‘Man up, Singer. You’ve got a family now. You don’t just walk out on family.’”

_Are you really just going to walk out on us like that?_

Meg’s voice boomed inside Dean’s head, and he had to cling onto the doorway to keep his balance.

“And I grew up fine,” Jo added, with a giggle. “So you did a good job, old man.”

“You guys are disgusting,” Dean chimed in. “I’m going to sleep before you get even more chick-flicky.”

Charlie and Jo’s booing followed him to the couch, where Dean barely had time to take off his shoes and buried his face in the pillows before Meg’s recriminations rang on his ears again.

_Are you really just going to walk out on us like that?_

It was for the best, Dean tried to convince himself for the millionth time. But ultimately, Bobby’s words were what kept him from falling asleep until the sunrise: _You don’t just walk out on family_.

 

* * *

 

The Saturday ceremony went mercifully without incidents. John kept his word and smiled and joked with Mr. Blake when it was inevitable, which wasn’t that much of the time, because the feeling of contempt was apparently mutual. Sarah was a heavenly vision on her white dress, and Ellen cried her eyes out when Pastor Jim declared her and Sam “husband and wife”. Sammy’s eyes were shining bright with emotion when he kissed his bride. And Dean had a bubble of something that was both agitation and joy when he climbed on the stage with the band to give his speech during the reception.

“I’m sorry, yeah, hi,” he said, fumbling with the cards he had prepared. He felt a stab of grief when he saw Cas’ neat handwriting on them. Dean took a deep breath and forced a smile. Now was not the time. “Dean here. Also known as the cooler and prettier Winchester. Sarah, you’ve made a terrible mistake.”

To his relief the audience laughed at the joke, while Sam bitchfaced like never before and Sarah giggled behind her hand. Encouraged, Dean kept going: he talked about how Sam had no idea how to talk to girls and had to ask for Dean’s advice to talk to Amy, the first girl he kissed. He talked about how Sam was a go-getter and an overachiever who always knew he wanted: his dream job, his dream house, and now his dream girl.

“When he told me he met her at her dad’s art gallery, my first reaction was ‘What the hell were you even doing in an art gallery? You know nothing about art!’ and he said, in his most panicky voice, he said: ‘I know, what am I going to talk about on our date?!’,” he imitated Sam, and could see him mouthing ‘I don’t sound like that!’ while all the guests laughed once again. “But you know, somehow it worked out, and here they are. Which only goes to prove… sometimes you can find happiness in the strangest places.”

Cas had come up with that. Of course he had; Dean never would’ve thought of something that beautiful. They had spent hours writing the speech together, and then Dean had read it to Meg, who made some wonderful suggestions, like including the Amy story. They’d both been so supportive, knowing that he hated the idea of standing in front of that much people and talking, and for a moment, Dean wished they were there, that he could introduce them to their family, and that he could…

“Anyway,” Dean looked up again and cleared his throat, while he raised his champagne glass. “Here’s to Sammy and Sarah. Cheers!”

They toasted to the newlyweds, and then the dancing began. Dean danced a slow piece with Sarah (because as the best man, he had to), and stepped on her toes, to everyone’s amusement. He then tried to sneak out, but of course Jo and Charlie spotted him and forced him to stay on the dance floor with them until the end of the party, completely ignoring and even mocking his grunting and protesting.

Finally, after what Dean could have sworn was an entire day, Sam and Sarah did their exit to the limousine (rented by Mr. Blake) that would take them to the airport. Charlie caught the bouquet, and it was Dean’s turn to laugh at Jo for getting as red as her girlfriend’s hair. Half an hour later, John grabbed Dean’s arm and begged him to get him away from all those people, to which Dean was more than happy to oblige.

“Well, it’s done,” John said, while Dean drove him back to the house. They stayed silent for a while, and then John added: “I wish your mother could’ve seen it.”

“Dad…” Dean said, and he ran out of words right there. They didn’t do that. They didn’t say things like that. It was just… not a thing they did.

“Yeah, and I wish she could see you too,” John continued. “She’d be proud. Look at the road, boy.”

“Are you drunk?” Dean asked, still trying to process he was actually having a touchy-feely conversation with his father.

“No, but if you mention this to anybody, I’ll say I was,” John said, and Dean let out sigh of relief. Yeah, that was more like it. “So… what’s her name?”

Dean resisted the impulse to stomp on the breaks, and instead put on his best poker face.

“Alright, what’s _his_ name?” asked John, rolling his eyes so hard Dean wondered if they were going to get stuck in the back of his head.

“What makes you think I’m with someone at all?” asked Dean, through gritted teeth. On that same note, why was the way home so fucking long?

“Please. When has Missouri ever been wrong?” John pointed. Dean tried to think of an occasion (there had to be one, right?) but before he could come up with one, John kept asking: “Look, I know you’ve been hiding whatever it is for a while now. I thought we were passed the point where you don’t talk to me about these things. So what’s the matter?”

They reached their street, and Dean made sure to park the Impala perfectly. John made no attempt at getting out, and Dean knew he wouldn’t be going anywhere until he had answered the question. So he took some seconds to gather his thoughts and found a way to describe polyamorous relationships to John Winchester without him freaking out. A few seconds later, Dean concluded there wasn’t one.

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” he said, finally

“Fine, then, answer me this,” John continued. “Will I understand it even if you explain it to me?”

“Probably not,” Dean admitted, and it came out gloomier than he expected.

“Okay. But just so you know, I don’t give a fuck,” John added. “Even if I did, you shouldn’t give a fuck about what I think. As long as you’re happy. Are you happy?”

Dean thought about the sun coming in through the window of the Novaks bedroom. He thought about Cas getting all handsy under the sheets and Meg complaining they should at least wait until she’d had a cup of coffee or two. He thought about Meg standing in the kitchen, always busy, her hands never still, how she sometimes even hummed to herself, and Cas on the couch with the glasses fallen to the tip of his nose while he chewed on the pen and stared intensely at the newspaper’s crosswords. He thought about the night by the sink, and how great it’d felt to have two pair of arms around his waist, and how his heart had pounded loudly at the idea of being part of those wonderful people lives.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, they make me happy.”

“Great,” said John, with a deadpan like he had not quite heard or was pretending he didn’t hear what Dean said. “Then that’s all that matters.”

He patted Dean on the shoulder, and Dean considered going for full on hug, but ultimately decided that had been quite enough of personal interaction with his father. So instead, he joked:

“Are you sure you’re not drunk?”

John smacked him on the head. Thank God.

 

* * *

 

Dean had read somewhere that anything that can go wrong will go wrong, and that Sunday morning, when he left for Colorado again after having some coffee with his dad, he proved that saying right. First, he realized when he was on the road in the middle of nowhere, that he had forgotten to fill the tank, and had to drive at a suicidal speed hoping to find a gas station as soon as possible. When he did, he realized he had taken the wrong turn somewhere, which was mortifying since he was a road trip expert, and had to do a bunch of extra miles in the opposite direction. Just when he was about to pass Denver, he got a flat tire, and the only thing that prevented him from screaming “Are you fucking kidding me?!” while raising a fist to the skies was that there were a lot of passers-by.

He had thought about arriving at around five in the afternoon. He ended up reaching the building’s lobby at eleven o’clock, dragging his duffle bag miserably behind him, and with a headache that might or might not been a product of sun stroke.

Once he was standing outside the Novaks door, he played with the key, and decided to put it away. He wasn’t going to barge in there, in case they had changed their minds. They probably had changed their minds. Why was he even knocking? Perhaps they were already gone to sleep and maybe it’d be better to talk to them in the morning…

Meg opened the door, and her eyes went wide with surprise for about a second before she adopted an angry and annoyed expression. She crossed her arms over chest (she was wearing her lavender dress, her favorite one), and frowned at him. She didn’t say a word.

Dean chewed the words he had been rehearsing in his head all the way back, and couldn’t bring himself to say them. Not until Cas appeared behind his wife, with an interrogating expression in his face. He didn’t say anything either.

“Hello,” Dean began, pathetically. He waited for an answer along the lines of “How was the wedding?” or “How was your trip?” but of course there wasn’t one. The time for small talk had passed. _Man up, Winchester_. “I’m sorry.”

“That all you got to say for yourself?” asked Meg. Dean swore he’d never seen anyone raise an eyebrow as intimidatingly as she did.

“I was an asshat,” Dean continued.

“A huge asshat,” Meg corrected.

“The hugest asshat,” Dean agreed.

“I’m not sure ‘asshat’ is a word,” said Cas, but Meg gestured him to stay quiet.

“I freaked out,” Dean admitted. “That’s no excuse, but… I was just terrified that we would screw this up before it even began. Then I realized if we screw up, at least we’d screw up together.” He made a pause and stared at them, almost supplicating. “If you still want me here.”

Meg let him sweat a few seconds more. Then she smiled, and opened her arms. Dean took a step forwards, and hesitantly put his arms around her.

“I’m not gonna break,” she muttered in her ear, and Dean wished he could have come up with a witty answer, but the lump in his throat prevented him from doing so. And in any case, Cas was already squeezing them both, and kissing Dean’s hair softly before murmuring the one thing that convinced Dean he was truly forgiven:

“Welcome home.”


End file.
